


Clarinets Are The Ultimate Expression Of Violence

by Do_I_Exist_13



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But That Will Not Be A Focus, Elias Bouchard Bashing, Elias Bouchard Being A Creeper, Gen, Hot Takes On The Slaughter On Part Of The Author, I had to do it, M/M, Martin and Jon do not have a healthy/good relationship in this one, No beta we die like archival assistants, Sexual Harassment, Slaughter Avatar Jonathan Sims, Slaughter!Jon, Slightly Less Than Canon-Typical Worms, Starts Pre-Cannon, The Institute Has A Music Night, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27086668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Do_I_Exist_13/pseuds/Do_I_Exist_13
Summary: After Jon gets sent to Mexico by Elias to retrieve a spooky book, a few things go a bit sideways. But a wicked hunger for sweet toons and a vintage clarinet are well within Jon’s pay grade.
Relationships: (one sided), Jonathan Sims & His spooky clarinet, Jonathan Sims & Sasha James, Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker, Jonathan Sims | The Archivist/Martin Blackwood (one sided), Jonathan Sims/Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus, More Relationship Tags to be Added, Tim Stoker & Sasha James
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Drunk Mistakes Are The Worst

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. It Me. 
> 
> Hot Take number one! Anyone can be affected/avatar-ed by the Slaughter. Since anger is the primary emotion behind the slaughter and everyone feels anger, even if you repress it/ do not act on it I think that makes everyone at least a little vulnerable to it.  
> But some of you may not be convinced, you might think “well I’d never hurt anyone with my anger” or something along those lines and I’m here to call bullshit. You’ve probably been arguing with someone close to you at least once before and said something that you regretted because you were angry or bitter or whatever. That, to a lesser extent is hurting someone with your anger.  
> Also, you don’t have to be an angry/cruel person to become an avatar. Hell, in the statement Elias dragged out of Daisy, Calvin was described as a meek and kinda passive person before being affected by the Slaughter. So I think his anger was always there but if he’d never encountered the Slaughter he’d probably be a very normal, non-murderer just like you or me.
> 
> Hot take end.

Jon doesn’t know why he’d been transferred from research to the artifact storage, and barely a week later Mr. Bouchard buys him a plane tickets to Mexico to get a (supposedly) cursed book.

It’s weird, strange and frankly Jon is a bit suspicious. The insitute has never done anything like this- at least not that he’s ever heard of, even the other artifact storage employees looked completely shocked when Mr. Bouchard offered the ticket.

Though that might’ve just been because it was Jon who got chosen. At first he was insulted at their astonishment, did his coworkers really think he couldn’t take one (alledgedly) cursed book? But as Jon thought more about it he realizes that this is strange.

Jon knows he can handle this simple task perfectly fine. But... he hardly got transferred a week earlier, and then he gets picked specifically for a book retrieval.

Which he cannot stress enough how weird that fact is because the insitute never meddles directly. For fuck’s sake, not messing with the supernatural might as well be the insitute’s slogan!

And why him? Maybe Jon wouldn’t be so goddamn paranoid if Mr. Bouchard hadn’t been so... creepy! The entire time Jon was in his office he felt like the man was undressing Jon with his eyes.

It’s more than a little uncomfortable, and to make matters worse he kept not-so-subtly-hinting about a possible promotion! For Christ’s sake, Mr. Bouchard booked him a five-star hotel too.

At this point Jon feels it’s safe to assume that Mr. Bouchard is romantically interested. Jon was very much not. Elias was nice(?) and all but didn’t he have a husband? Ex husband, their divorces were quite infamous and Jon frankly didn’t have the energy or interest to keep track.

Though Peter Lukas sounds like a very powerful man, and he doesn’t want to be a target because of Mr. Bouchard’s careless advances.

Mr. Bouchard is his boss too, he doesn’t know how he feels about that either. No, that’s a lie, Jon knows exactly how he felt about this. He does not like it. Any of it, Jon isn’t ready for another relationship- even if it wasn’t Elias-niceguy-Bouchard!

After Jon retrieves this cursed book he’s going to march up to Mr. Bouchard’s office and say he did not want his creepy, limp, saggy dick! (Or any sex at all)

Well, maybe Jon should at least enjoy the vacation Mr. Bouchard gave him. Jon makes his way to the bar with a devilish look in his eyes, he lies to himself and said only one drink.

...

Something pokes Jon’s face when he wakes up, it’s sharp and wooden. Jon bolts up in bed and a very expensive looking wooden clarinet is sitting right by him... How much did he drink last night?

  
A dull silvery glint catches his eyes and Jon finds himself reaching for it. His fingers are sore and rubbed raw in some places, and his mouth is so sore. How long was he playing the clarinet last night?

The glint turns out to be a clarinet case, it looks old enough that Jon is surprised it’s not locked away in a museum. The red paint is chipped to the point of near extinction and the case’s handle looks well worn and the inside is in a similar state.

Jon checks the reed compartment, a few old bullets and an older reed case. The bullets themselves seem to radiate anger, Jon picks one up and inspects it closely.

  
In the center there are a few music notes etched. Jon examines each in awe. Tearing himself away from the bullets for a second allowed him to examine the rest of the room. A few feet to the left of his bed a music stand sat.

Jon walks toward the worn music book in a trancelike state and plucks it off the black stand. He examines the are wrinkled pages, the notes are written in a faded brown ink, they’re strung together in a complex yet entrancing manner.

Jon takes a deep breath in and coppery scent enter Jon’s nostrils. A contented smile spreads across Jon’s face, it smells like home, or the warm embrace of a friend you haven’t seen in years.

He peels himself away from the book and grabs the clarinet from his bed. His sore fingers align perfectly with the steel keys. He puts his chapped lips up to the mouthpiece and blows.

  
A clear, deep note leaves the instrument, it sounds beautiful.

Jon never considered playing an instrument. He used to be in a band, but he always thought of himself (the singer) as the most important part. He never really got the appeal of anything else, but now, as Jon shifts his fingers to form another majestic low note, he thinks he understands why.


	2. Going Deeper Into Your Morbid Musical Obsession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retrieving a Leitner? Jon can handle it. Some American guy barging in on your sweet toons session? Jon might have to back off, not every battle can be won.

After hours of learning, memory-building and clarinet practice, his alarm for the book meeting rings and Jon is forced to pack up his setup and reluctantly catch a train to the supposed destination.

When Jon arrives he frowns at the the old, faded house that’s rundown and falling apart at the seams. A skeleton of a woman is sitting out front on the warped wood of the porch, her skin is wrinkled and sagged, she stares out at the sky aimlessly. It unsettles Jon; her slumped body looking more corpse than woman.

He takes a deep breath in, steadying himself and clutching the black messenger bag he brought like a shield. Jon ascends the first step and the woman snaps up with a jolt, he jumps in surprise and the woman begins her shambled approach.

Jon turns his head to the street behind him, remembering eight spindly legs closing in on George. Elias wouldn’t have to know, he could go, but the woman puts her shaky hand on his shoulder and it is too late.

“I have the book. Take it,” The old woman’s voice rattles, it’s accented and sounds more like an old car coughing to life than a person’s words. Jon pushes down the unsteady fear in his gut and twists around to the woman, pulling himself out from under her skeletal grasp.

“I’m Jonathan Sims, I’ll take your book and bring it back to my Insitute. Just show me where it is and anything I should be weary of,” He replies curtly. The woman stares at him with her wrinkled, sharp grey eyes. They focus on him like she’s sizing him up. Then she turns and gestures for Jon to follow her, the ragged blue shawl she’s wearing swaying softly behind her. Jon does so, stiffly and tensely ducking into her broken, single-story house.

The interior is much like the exterior, though it’s surprisingly barren and devoid of furniture, save for two chairs in her sandy colored living room and an ugly beige table.

She leads Jon further into the house, stopping at her bedroom and ducking inside. Jon hesitates before entering, he’s feeling quite awkward about going in her bedroom. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to as the woman emerges a moment later; clutching a wrinkled brown leather book in her hands.

Her grey eyes are pointed at the book in hate, she looks desperately like she wants to rip it in half, throw it in a lake and spit on it. Her head jerks up to Jon and she suddenly pushes the book at him.

“It took my wife, my poor Maria, now take it away. Take its curse and go. If I do not see another deathly thing that like again, it is too soon,” She spits, practically pushing Jon out the door and onto the dry street. The woman slams the old, rusty door with force, leaving Jon to go back to his hotel and wait for the plane uneasily.

He pulls out a plastic, zip-lock bag from his messenger bag and stuffs the book inside. It’s a heavy burden that never quite lets him forget it’s presence in the bottom of his bag. When Jon arrives back at the hotel and sets the book on the far end of his nightstand, he looks to his music setup, then the book.

Jon gets up and walks over to his stand, opening to a random page and applying chapstick to his cracked lips. He starts playing, as if the music could ward off the oppressive leather book in the corner of his room.

Eventually he does forget the book is there at all, so consumed he is in the sounds of his music. He is basking in a discordant melody labeled, “Battlefield Gunfire No1” when comes a distinctly angry knock at his door.

His playing stops with a choke as he is jolted harshly back to the real world. Spit goes into his windpipe and Jon almost drops the clarinet as he coughs over the side of his chair. The knocking continues as he recovers from his impromptu coughing session.

A bubble of indignant anger rises in his gut. How dare this random stranger interrupt him, what are people not allowed to practice music in the privacy of their own rooms now? What was this person doing that was so important as to have to get up and interrupt him anyway?

Jon swings the door open with a huff, glaring at the shlubby white dude looming in his doorway.

“It’s three thirty-five fucking a.m., you fucking freak. Go the hell to sleep, or else I will beat up the girl next door, make you watch, and then beat you up too.” It was strange, if not a little unsettling to hear this much resolve in someone who visibly looked like they lived in America and self identinified as a professional-gamer.

Though Jon’s anger also seemed to dissolve as he realized the man has said it was three a.m.. Which meant Jon had been playing for twelve hours... He cringed before saying, “I’m very sorry to disturb you. I- I must’ve lost track of the time... you won’t be hearing any more of me tonight.”

“I hope not,” The man says through clenched teeth. Jon nods once, silently dismissing the man before him. Jon meanders back into his room, falling onto the bed and feeling all of the energy drain out of his body all at once.

Jon groans, his eyes feel like heavy weights and he goes to pull up his blanket, hissing in pain when his raw fingers clamp around the cloth. He recoils his hand, it reveals small traces of blood left behind on his white blanket.

He turns his raw fingers over, cringing at the sensation. The skin around the tips of his fingers have been rubbed raw, turning them into a nasty red color. His pointer and pinkie fingers seem to have sustained the most damage, there are faint bloody rings where his skin pressed against the old metal keys.

Jon frowns, both and the injury and his lack of bandages. Jon lays on his back, as an effort to sleep for his flight back to England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far we haven’t seen a lot of the actual institute, don’t worry! Next chapter will prevail!


	3. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon gets back to London. We finally get to see sash.

The entire ride home is pleasant enough, but it’s a long one and Jon is about ready to drop dead by the time he gets back to London. Almost as soon as he arrives at his flat a notification pops up on his phone.

Elias Bouchard- _Jon? You should be back to home and country by now. I trust that the book retrieval went smoothly, yours truly, Elias._

Jon scowls at the message and tosses his phone onto the floor. It’s been a long fucking flight and he does not need his nice-guy, m’lord, simp boss writing him Victorian formatted texts like some sort of bloody poet.

He lays down in his bed stiffly; trying to get some sleep after his ungodly long flight, but the exhaustion of a few moments ago seems to evaporate and he’s left restless and stuck with the leftover annoyance from his boss being creepy. Jon frowns and closes his eyes, he’s trying to clear his head so he can actually sleep.

God knows he needs the rest, it’s been at least two days since he’s had proper sleep, but histhoughts are restless, they continue to drum on the back of his skull until he gives in and admits no sleep will be had. Jon rises to his sore legs and drags his feet to the kitchen.

There’s a welcoming half-finished pot of caffeinated tea sitting on his counter that he vaugely remembers preparing before his flight. Jon begrudgingly finishes the process and falls into his single dining room chair while he drowsily waits for his tea to brew.

Time slows to a near-stop while he’s waiting and his mind drifts back to the clarinet that’s packed away in his luggage. He thinks about playing it, he thinks about letting himself be consumed by the smooth baritone sounds, but his mouth aches and his fingers sting enough for him to dismiss the admittedly tempting idea.

The tea finishes and Jon drags himself over to the pot and pours himself a mug. A bit of tea slips over the side of the mug and spills onto his hand, Jon screeches in pain and drops both the mug and the pot on the floor. The pot shatters at his feet and it erupts in an explosion of glass and boiling water.

Jon howls in pain and rage as he picks up the chair he was sitting on and lifts it over his head.

_Stupid_

Jon rears the chair over the mess of water and glass.

_Bloody_

He brings the chair down over the pile, further smashing the already broken glass.

_Tea_

He continues beating at the spot with his chair until the shattered pot looks more like a paste than a broken dish. When he finally calms he’s at a point where he’s standing over the mess and breathing hard. He makes his way to the bathroom first and uses his shaking, raw hands to bandage themselves.

Then he goes back into the kitchen and cleans up the glass paste with a silent eerie precision that only a man who has just suffered a mental breakdown could be capable of pulling off.

The rest of Jon’s day goes by like a semi-lucid fever dream and all too soon it’s no longer the same day at all. Soon, it’s tomorrow morning and Jon is sitting on the tube. Then, he is opening the doors to the Magnus Institute, and finally he is sitting at his desk.

Jon is filling out a registration paper for a small pastel book that supposedly caused some type of personality-swap, or some complete drivel like that, when a hand sensually moves over his shoulder, massaging the place it’s seated at. He jumps at the touch and whips around to see who the owner of the hand is.

The lust-struck face of Elias Bouchard greets him. His boss’ eyes drift towards Jon’s midsection and then a little lower, it makes him want to punch Elias’ eyes out so he’ll never have to feel so exposed again.

“Jon, come to my office. I believe we have a few things to discuss,” Elias purrs. Jon’s first instinct is to flip Elias right off, but he remembers that this man was unfortunately his boss and begrudgingly stands up to follow Elias into his office. Elias opens the door for Jon like some sort of chivalrous knight trying to woo the prince.

He scowls at Elias, who doesn’t react at all. He takes a seat on his black velvet and gold studded chair. A wisp of outrage rises in his gut, _who makes something like that?_ It’s like some sort of office throne. It irks Jon very deeply and for the second time in less than ten minutes, Jon wants to punch Elias so hard that his eyes fall out of his skull.

“How was your vacation? I rather hope you enjoyed, Jon.” Elias leans forward on the desk, advancing on Jon’s personal space like a tiger. Jon leans back in his chair as an effort to remake some space between him and Elias.

“It was fine. Now do you have anything else to say to me, because I was in the middle of something very important,” Jon snaps. Elias slinks back into his chair at this.

“No need for the attitude. I was just checking up on one of my best employees,” He hisses back.

“I called you in because I needed the book you retrieved, nothing more, Jonathan,” Elias snips. Jon reluctantly takes the leather, black book out if it’s bag and sets it down onto Elias’ mahogany desk. His boss makes a rather unpleasant ‘hum’ and waves him away with a frown.

Jon happily speeds out of his creepy office and is power-walking to his desk when he sees Sasha James, his former coworker in research heading the direction he came from. Jon stops abruptly in his tracks and Sasha perks her head over to him curiously.

“Sasha?” He asks, “Are you going to His office?”

Sasha looks him over, her eyes stop on his bandaged hands. “Elias’ office? Um- yes? Jon are you alright?” Sasha questions with concern.

“I’m fine enough, Elias is just...” Jon trails off, feeling very much exhausted. “He sent me on a buisness trip and keeps being weird.”

Sasha looks very alarmed at that last bit. “He hasn’t done anything, has he?”

“No, and besides, I can quit if it gets out of my control,” He responds in a down voice. Sasha nods, still looking worried but not quite as alarmed as before.

“Okay. Just talk to me if it gets to be too much, alright? By the way, why are you wearing bandages on you fingers?” Sasha asks.

“I‘ve picked up the clarinet recently,” Jon explained, placing his hands together idly. Sasha’s eyes light up at this.

“Really? Y’know the institute holds a music night every Friday, I’d love to see you there,” Sasha offers kindly. Music night hm... Maybe playing in front of an audience wouldn’t be so bad, he’s been practicing pretty hard after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not hiatus, just slow to update because of my other fics.

**Author's Note:**

> Slow To Update


End file.
